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#Tied Up In Red
mudwerks · 2 years
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(via Tied Up In Red - Yello (1988))
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duckytree · 3 months
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big brother part 7
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egophiliac · 6 months
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messing around with techniques! I...like the foxman and the catboy a lot okay
also, a couple of quickies that honestly don't deserve any more effort than I've already given them:
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fanaticalthings · 2 days
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Give me crime lord!Jason who's actually on good terms with the batfam. Not only would it actually be helpful when it comes to missions surrounding underground/illegal operations (Jason would be able to retrieve way more insider knowledge) but also I think having a supervillain family member that you're chill with is just untapped comedic potential that needs to be taken advantage of.
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Damian gets into a petty fight with Bruce, and the next day, instead of waiting for Bruce to pick him up from school, he calls Jason, who shows up in full Red Hood regalia and just rides off with Damian.
Of course everyone at school sees that Wayne's son just got snatched by Gotham's most notorious crime lord, so ofc when Bruce gets there, sees Damian missing, and hears a series of panicked whispers about a gun slinging, criminal biker riding off with a prince of Gotham, Bruce immediately knows what's up and just sighs, already anticipating the many publication companies he's gonna have to bribe to stay silent.
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Sometimes, they need Jason's help with intercepting certain illegal trades within the underworld of, not just Gotham, but just common areas where shady businesses are most prevalent. And when Bruce requests that Jason brings evidence of said illegal shipments to the cave, Jason will smugly respond with "I can, but it'll cost ya"
And Bruce is all exasperated like, "Jason, please, this mission's been going on for a month, I just want to get it over with."
And Jason's just looking down at the crate of smuggled materials, recognizes that it's highly sought after by many rogues (maybe it's machinery parts or rare chemical substances, etc) and ofc Jason's about to be petty as hell when responding to Bruce:
Jason: I don't think you have any idea how valuable the stuff I have is. If I sold this myself in my part of the underground, I'd make a fortune!
Bruce: Jason
Jason: Butttt, if you're not willing to pay me for this, y'know, despite being a billionaire, I guess I could just auction this off to another willing client
Bruce: Jason
Jason: I hear Lex Luthor's been cookin' up something new for Superman. I wonder if he'd be interested?
Bruce: Son, please.
Jason:
Bruce:
Jason: I'll give you a family discount.
And it's just a back and forth of this EVERYTIME. And Jason only does it when he's collaborating with Bruce. None of the other bats have to deal with Jason demanding money.
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There was one time, during a Wayne gala where practically ALL the kids (except Jason, dude's still legally dead), had to show up. And around halfway through, the Red Hood just crashes through the skylight and then just fucking kidnaps Bruce Wayne, in front of everyone. And of course the gala has to be cut short.
Meanwhile, Bruce, in Jason's custody: I CANNOT believe you, son. WHY of all times would you do this? You are GROUNDED, I don't care if you don't live with me anymore, this is just UNACCEPTABLE-
Jason, completely ignoring him, holding up a tablet with news article headlines about this incident: Bruce, look at this shot they got of me crashing through the ceiling, I look fuckin' badass
And then when the fam (in costume) come to "save" Bruce, in a blink and you'll miss it moment, Bruce catches Cass and Jason whispering something to eachother in the corner and them fist bumping before Jason books it out of there. He can already feel a headache brewing.
And generally speaking, I feel like the batfam could be way more efficient with this arrangement. You got the regular team of bats, investigating from above, as well as being able to infiltrate socialite environments as Waynes. Then you got Jason, who can keep an eye on all the lesser exposed and lucrative activities whilst he keeps the underground businesses under his control. I feel like it would be a win win situation that would be hella interesting to see explored.
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cametotheshowinsd · 9 months
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The autumn chill that wakes me up, you loved the amber skies so much;
🍁TAYLOR SWIFT × FALL🍁
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turtleblogatlast · 3 months
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Leo getting hit with a truth curse but instead of forcing him to admit to super sad or worrying things it’s things like “it was me who broke the remote” “I saw Mikey prank Donnie and helped hide it because it’s way funnier if he didn’t know who it was” “I rip my clothes to look more like Raph’s because he’s really cool” “my stripes aren’t even red they’re pink!”
#rottmnt#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#rottmnt leo#rise leo#plot twist he COULD be admitting angsty stuff but he’s pushing the less oof truths forward instead on purpose#raph: hey leo what do you want for dinner#leo: *about to bare his soul on all his internal torment but pivots* I’m afraid of snakes#(no but fr Leo’s stripes being technically more pink instead of red is cute ngl)#(a very reddish pink to the point that in certain lighting it looks red but at the base they’re p pink)#(i also am very fond of the idea that Leo doesn’t just have questionable taste in fashion he also just loves Raph a lot and looks up to him)#but yeah I think that something like this would be 99% Leo admitting to unimportant things or admitting to how much he values everyone#like they all KNOW Leo loves them and he’s talked them up enough for them to know but it’s different when he’s like#‘I just wanna read my comics with you guys around - it’s my favorite place to be’#or again just random bs that doesn’t REALLY have a lot of weight like#‘I like using my portals to prank random people around the world’#‘I’m worried about being a bad influence on hueso jr’#‘sometimes I kinda wanna see hypno’s plans succeed’#‘it’s been way too long since I found this out and honestly it’s embarrassing but I actually don’t have a di-‘#SORRY COULDNT HELP MYSELF#(<-but did u know that that pink rather than red observation actually ties into this headcanon as well if u know about red eared sliders)
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Danny didn't know what to do with all these flowers. Sure, Amity had done a 180 after they stopped listening to his parents (its just a shame what had happened to them) and they now loved thier guardian and savior.
Which brought him back to the flowers. It was the day after Valentines and he had gotten gifts from what felt like everyone in the city (except Vlad who was in ghost jail via the Observants) leading him to having a massive pile of flowers, stuffed animals and candy to figure out what to do with.
Obviously most of the stuffing were going to be decorating his lair in the GZ but the flowers would rot eventually and he didn't even own a single vase anyway. He was not going to mention the chocolate.
Then Tucker gave him an idea. He can just give them away to other heros.
Cackling he set about plans to ambush the batfam who he had met once or twice when he was exploring through dimensions (and promptly chased out of the city)
He started with Red Robin the smartest and arguably the cutest of the brood. He had picked a good time too because birdy looked five steps away from falling asleep on the rooftop while running, so when Danny through a bouquet or roses at him the soft petals clocked him right in the face.
The look he gave was one of pure confusion as he stared at the plants. Then, all too soon it clicked and the vigilantes face turned a lovely shade of red as he looked around for whoever tossed them. Luckily Danny stayed off the visible spectrum that night.
The next victim was Spoiler who he clocked in the back of the head while she was distracted by talking to a civilian. The yelp she made was glorious and almost made Danny cackle and give away his position.
Red Hood Danny had to be the hardest one. Sneaking up on him was almost impossible. He could sense RH like he could a ghost but something was definitely off. He wondered if Hood could sense him too. Is that how he always seemed to know he was around. It didn't matter in the end because Danny had a lot of free time without the ghost attacks and a near endless supply of ammo. Still. Danny was getting irritated and just decided to chuck flowers at the guy until he landed a hit. He didn't know why hood was freaking out so much over flowers or why he was shooting at the flowers or even what "Pit" he was screaming about but the moment he got a hit in Danny decided to bounce.
Robin was funny. He threw a bouquet and the little bird caught it like a sword before inspecting it with a raised eyebrow.
Orphan was nice. She caught her bouquet gracefully in her arms almost as if she was expecting it and held it to her chest before looking right at him and waving.
While he was invisible.
He bolted.
Occasionally he liked to interfere with the bats rogue battles by throwing a single rose into the frey, startling the baddie of the hour and giving the bat or bats time to collect themselves. Yeah thats right. He Tuxedo Mask'd them. Something that infuriated some of the bats and got other giggling.
He at least knew better not to do this to Poison Ivy. For her he portaled in something special. The look on her face when one of those battery powered toddler jeeps came racing down the street with a full rose bush in a glass bubble and into the fight was something he'd cherish forever. Especially when she realized she couldn't control the thing thanks to the glass.
This leads to the last bird.
Nightwing was probably one of the best victims hes had. He took it like a champ and even played along, giving a little speech about being honored to receive such a gift, prompting Danny to throw individual flowers at the heros feet. Nightwing continued talking and Phantom kept giving him flowers, distracted by what the hero was saying and slowly drifting closer until-
The kick to the side of the head didn't really hurt, when you get used to being thrown through buildings not much could really hurt you anymore but it was enough to stun him and force him to drop his invisibility. Another kick and a few shocks from a pair of acrizma sticks for struggling and he was on his belly at Nightwings feet. He felt something fasten around his wrist and his core felt restricted but he didn't transform back into Fenton.
Crap. Power dampening cuffs.
He was so screwed.
Danny was later upset to discover there was a whole other bat he didn't know about or even get to target once due to him being on the daylight shift.
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mon-petit-coeur-noir · 6 months
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littlegreekhero · 2 months
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Uhm, actually, ☝️🤓, it was both of you.
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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 8 months
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Gearing up for the stat boosts
MDZS Disco Elysium AU Part 3 (Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 4)
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thebagsyndicate01 · 5 months
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The beautiful Christina Carter bound and gagged dressed up as Wonder Woman
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rwrbsource · 7 months
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@rwrbmovie & @rwrbsource’s rwrbweek: Day 2 | Song ↳ My Favorite Soundtrack Songs [INSP / TEMPLATE]
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lemonlimestar · 4 months
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fixed up a tim from a while back :-)
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marin by ɴ3ᴠ.
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warpedwings · 9 months
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Misha Collins - Red Ties
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jen-with-a-pen · 2 months
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ALL TIED UP - FIVE
Previous ⊹ Series
summary: Steve's night is made when his barista ends up sharing a class with him. But Steve's paranoia gets the best of him– can he really trust his gut?
pairings: Art Student!Frat Brother!Steve Rogers x Film Student!Sorority Sister!Reader
word count: 2.66k
warnings: flirting, fluff, hand holding, closeness, steve is adorable when he's nervous, paranoia, unease, cursing, barista lore™
a/n: had fun writing this one as we build up to friday! i might be switching the days/chapters around in the next few, but we'll see. depends on the depravity of my brain 😈
gif by @paliaphrodite | additional graphics + dividers by me ♥
my ao3 | my masterlist | all tied up masterlist Read this fic HERE on ao3! ♥Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥
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Last Thursday.
Learning how to draw, when he already knows how to draw, makes Steve feel bad at drawing.
Sitting in the lecture hall of the art school, he doodles over the half-assed notes he manages to take during the first thirty minutes of class. Usually, he loves Drawing 101; it’s his easiest, only late-night class each week and one of the only times he can relax without worrying about one of the brothers barging in with another stupid homework question. Usually, it's just him, his earbuds turned up a touch too high, and whatever subjects the instructor places in front of him. On Thursday nights, nothing stands between him, an easel, and two straight hours of sketching pots and people. 
Except when a said-Thursday night happens to fall on ‘mandatory lecture’ day.
It hasn’t been an hour when Steve gives up trying to force himself to focus, instead choosing to mindlessly doodle over and around the page. The Drawing 101 guest professor continues to drone on about different types of graphite in the pencils kits Steve and twenty-odd other kids in the course were forced to buy. Steve doesn’t understand– nor does he particularly give a shit– as to why a 3H pencil is better over a 3B pencil, or how using an 8B pencil isn’t preferred over a 7B pencil.
A pencil is a fucking pencil.
Steve sighs, failing to stifle a yawn. No amount of coffee– not even the triple espresso concoction his barista had him try earlier that day– could save him from falling asleep in this godforsaken, decades-old room with dimmed lights and sporadically-filled seats scattered amongst the vast sea of empty ones. Honestly, nobody ever came to monthly lectures, save for when their usual professor mentioned the material would be part of their written midterms. Guest lecturers result in a lesser turnout, too, and Steve partially wishes he’d chosen to spend it back at the café or in the library. As the professor continues on to the next type of pencil, the double doors at the back of the room creak open. Still dazed in a bored stupor, Steve cranes his neck over his shoulder to see which unlucky bastard is almost an hour late to the snoozefest. 
He immediately wakes up, shooting up in his seat as if a bucket of ice water were splashed on him. He can’t believe what he sees: it’s her. Her. His barista. 
Mouth agape, he stares as she slowly closes the doors, careful not to draw too much attention to her late arrival. When nobody bothers to acknowledge her, she makes her way down the carpeted steps of the lecture hall in search of refuge in an empty seat. Her eyes dart across the aisles, desperate for just one, inconspicuous place that will draw the least attention. 
As she combs the rows with a furrowed brow and bottom lip slipping adorably between her teeth, Steve realizes he’s got some sort of a chance. Eyes dart to the professor, then back to her. Steve subtly raises a hand, waving to get her attention. Locking eyes, she finally sees him. Relief and surprise replace her bitten lip with a beaming smile. Steve’s heart soars, skipping far more than several beats. He doesn’t– he can’t– take his eyes off her as she quickly shuffles through the row of seats, plopping down next to him and dropping a tote bag at her feet. She pulls out a purple notebook and pen, slouching back into her seat with a relieved sigh, knee brushing gently against Steve’s. A ghost of the sweetest-smelling perfume drifts into his nostrils and he has the urge to replace his oxygen supply with it.
Steve feels like he’s dreaming. Cloud nine, light as a feather, the whole fucking nine yards. He skims over her features in the dim light of the lecture hall– the curve of her lips as she whispers to herself, flipping through the pages of her notebook, trying to find a blank spot; her eyelashes that flick up and down as she copies down the date and class number. He trails down her neck, crossing over the gold bar necklace she wears every day, to her shoulders and arms, her hands. When his eyes drift back up to her face, she’s staring back. Heat blooms in his cheeks and nerves constrict his chest in embarrassment. She smirks, shaking her head and turning her attention to the professor’s current ramblings on B and HB pencils. Steve opens his mouth to speak but quickly shuts it.
What would he even say? How would he get away with trying to talk to her in the middle of the lecture? The professor would hear him, he’d get called out, everyone would see him–
She huffs, turning to another blank notebook page. Steve side-eyes her as she quietly tears the page out and scribbles something on the first line. Side-eyeing Steve, a small smile pulls at the corners of her lips as she discreetly slides the paper over to him.
hi stranger.
Steve can’t help but grin. It spills across his lips as more heat blooms, trailing up his ears and down his neck. Trying not to seem too eager, he clicks his own pen and scrawls a response. The professor’s voice fades into background noise, going through one ear and out the other. He’s a goner and so is Steve.
YOURE THE STRANGER, STRANGER
He slides the paper back to her. She scoffs a laugh, smile growing wider. 
last minute class drop + switch. u know how it is.
TRUE. DIDNT KNOW YOU WERE AN ART KID
She shakes her head, quickly scribbling when Steve cocks his head, mouthing a ‘what?’
film kid. have to take art class for credit. only one available.
Steve’s surprised at her response, nodding once he thinks it over. It makes sense. 
She makes sense.
It fits her. It fits the way she moves, the way she carries herself, the ease in which she comes up with witty comebacks. It’s then and there Steve really thinks about the contrast between the two of them– the way he’s perceived versus how he perceives her. He’s a frat brother, a six-foot-two guy with muscles he doesn’t know how to use yet, and a lifelong artist who doesn’t fit in– no matter how much he tries to claw and fight his way out of the hole people dig and throw him in.
If anything, he doesn’t make sense. 
Brow furrowing and jaw set, Steve’s caught in the downward spiral he’s been fighting to keep at bay since coming to Richards– since he pledged his life away to Sigma Theta Beta and the never-ending identity crisis the brothers force upon him every waking moment. But, it’s with her that he feels more like himself than anywhere else in the goddamned world. It’s with her he wants to– willingly– be himself. He wants to be himself with her.
He, however, doesn’t realize the hack job he’s performing on his poor cheek tissue until a soft hand covers his, squeezing lightly. Warmth spreads like wildfire across Steve’s skin, breaking him free and bringing him back to the real world. Concern veils over his barista’s expression; her soft, searching gaze jumps between his baby blues.
‘You okay?’ she mouths, studying him, hand still on his. Her brow twitches upwards when he still doesn’t respond. Steve holds up an index finger and goes back to responding on the paper. 
SORRY. LOT ON MY MIND
She nods heavily in agreement. 
same. pencildick up there is putting me to sleep. how do you even do it?
Steve bites a laugh back. 
DRAWING, COUNTING THE CLOCK
Before she takes it back Steve adds,
AND NOW YOU.
Her smile is bright enough to light up the darkened lecture hall. 
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Two whole pages are filled by the time class lets out. Front and back. 
Steve allows his barista to take the lead in following other students out of the lecture hall. Buzzing conversations reveal a shared eagerness to get the hell out of there and go spend the rest of their Thursday night doing something else more worthy of their precious time. Steve slings his bag over his shoulder as he follows close behind, verbally continuing their written conversation about her shift from earlier in the day and swapping ridiculous ways on how they’ll manage to work every type of pencil into their midterm.
As he plods next to her, Steve fights an innate urge to place a light hand on her lower back to guide her out on their way to the parking lot. Instead, he gets the door, jokingly half-bowing with an outstretched arm to the second set of double doors. Continuing out of the building, Steve takes a breath, deciding now is the perfect time to ask if she’s busy tonight. Instead, though, she stops abruptly. Steve runs directly into her, arms jutting out instinctively to steady both of them out of sheer instinct. Grabbing her shoulders, she spins around to face him, closer to his chest than either realized.
Steve feels his ears turn red again. She looks up at him, blinking before taking a step back, lips parting slightly. An awkward beat hangs in the air before Steve clears his throat and rubs his neck.
"You, uh,” he swallows, preparing himself for the inevitable, “You maybe wanna go grab a bite t’eat, or somethin’?" 
Her eyes widen, lips twitching at the corners. She looks like she’s about to answer before quickly realizing something, as if internally scolding herself for even looking excited. Pressing her lips together, her eyes dart back to her phone.
"Shit, I–" she quickly types a response and shoves it back in her pocket, exhaling in frustration. 
"What is it?"
"I would love to, Steve. I really would, but," she closes her eyes and sighs, "I can't. My sisters need me back at the house. They said it’s an ‘emergency.’" She adds sarcastic air quotes, rolling her eyes. 
"Oh!” Relief fills Steve’s chest, thankful she’s not purposefully blowing him off with some shitty excuse. “Okay, no yeah, I–I totally get it, family can be-"
She smiles softly, shaking her head and taking his hand to run a thumb over his knuckles. The gesture is so casual, so soft, yet it sends goosebumps up Steve’s arm. 
"Oh, no. No, they're not my actual sisters. They're, um, my sorority sisters." She flinches as 'sorority' leaves her lips.
Steve blanches, swallowing a disbelieving laugh. He can't help the lopsided smile spreading across his face. He can’t help taking both her hands in his and holding them in excitement. The odds of it– all of it– all the things, of all the people, she’s the one to make him feel less alone. She’s the one that understands everything.
He tries, and fails, to contain his excitement.
"No, I– I completely get it. My frat brothers are insufferable and I'm the newest pledge, so–"
It’s her turn to blanche. "You? You’re a new pledge, too?"
"Yeah, I, uh, I’m required by my scholarship–"
"Oh thank God it's not just me!"
"There's one for sisters, too?" Steve gawks. He’s truly in shock at the audacity of Richards to make any student required to endure the circle of Hell that is Greek life. He squeezes her hands. She matches him.
"Of course there is, meathead,” she snorts. “Title nine, or whatever the hell."
Steve nods. "I can’t tell you how glad I am not to be alone in this. It's fucked up, but maybe not as much now that I know you're in the same boat as me."
He pulls her ever-so-slightly closer. She lets him.
"Guess that makes you the Jack to my Rose."
Steve furrows his bro, cocking his head like a confused puppy. 
"Oh God– Don't tell me you've never seen Titanic," she gasps, feigning offense and sending Steve off course, thinking he’s fucked up somehow.
Sarcasm isn’t his strong suit.
"I, uh– no, not that I know of. I–I mean I've heard of the Titanic, but I don't remember the– well I know there's a movie, but I–" 
She laughs, full and genuine, stepping forward as her hands leave his, placing one on his shoulder. Her touch is soft, gentle, more comforting than anything he’s ever felt. 
"I'll show ya some time. Don't worry."
Squeezing his bicep, her fingertips glide down to his hand, grazing his fingers for the slightest moment before slipping between them, lacing them together. Electricity shoots up Steve's arm. Without another word she leads him out of the building, walking down the sidewalk lit by the moon rising overhead and scattered street lamps illuminating the parking lot. 
Steve decides then and there he’ll go wherever she takes him. Anywhere. Everywhere.
She stops at the edge of the parking lot and turns to him. "This is where I leave ya, my car’s over yonder.” She nods to a blue sedan with a Richards sticker on the back windshield sitting underneath one of the street lamps. “Plus, I’d like to save you walkin’ me to my car for another night.”
Butterflies. Steve nods. She scoffs a laugh.
“Text me, meathead. I'll see ya tomorrow?"
“Tomorrow.”
She releases his hand in slow motion and Steve hopes she’s relishing every bit of physical contact with him as he is with her. He heads to his own car parked in the darker side of the lot under the shadows of the perimeter trees and dimmer lamps, swaying languidly and ambling across the pavement in a trance. Steve makes a note to himself: watch more movies, because he sure feels like he's in one. 
The trance is broken when a split second of what sounds like a scream echoes over the lot and is snuffed out just as abruptly as it started. 
Steve freezes, key halfway into unlocking the driver’s side door. Ears prick up, breath held firm in his chest. Turning over his shoulder, he gasps, startled as a blue car– her car– slowly backs out from under the streetlamp and exits onto the road casually. Steve watches it disappear from view. The sound of the engine gunning it down the road leaves Steve alone in the dark, a sick uneasiness pooling in his gut.
He gets in his car, tossing his bag into the passenger seat and pulling out his phone.
You okay? Did you hear that?
Steve turns the engine over and throws the car into drive, foot hard on the brake before checking her text back. 
Hear what? I’m okay! :)
The uneasiness doesn’t leave him. She doesn’t usually text like that. 
“Fuck, get a grip, Steve,” he mutters to himself, resting his head against the steering wheel. He takes a second to gather himself and calm his nerves. The paranoia he’s been trained to feel thanks to his brothers, in combination with the fear of fucking everything up with his barista tonight, must be mixing together and clashing against every active nerve in his body. He’s fine. She’s fine.
She’s obviously driving right now, of course she wouldn’t fucking text how she normally does. She’s probably using voice text. Calm. Down.
Steve sends another text before tossing his phone into the passenger’s seat, the unease refusing to dissipate. He turns on the radio, turning up the song blasting from the speakers in a sorry attempt to silence his racing thoughts. 
No big deal. Get home safe.
His phone stays silent the rest of the night. It stays silent as he gets home, as he throws a bowl of ramen together, as he throws himself onto his bed and flips open his laptop to watch some random brainrot he finds on Netflix. 
He nods off, letting himself be taken by exhaustion as the uneaten bowl of ramen sits on his desk, growing colder, while the dim computer light and hum of dialogue pull Steve further and further into a dreamless sleep.
His phone dies silently in his hand. 
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